


myth and renewal

by bounsweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Christmas, Feelings Realization, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 11:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bounsweet/pseuds/bounsweet
Summary: It's the first Christmas festival he gets to settle down and celebrate for with his people as Exalt, and the first Christmas since last year without Robin. Or at least, it starts off that way.In which, Chrom learns that Christmas miracles just might be more than a saying.





	myth and renewal

**Author's Note:**

> okay. okay. so this? this sucks. but hear me out: i havent written something long since april. i also havent played awakening since 2014 fjhgfg
> 
> smash rekindled my chrobin thirst and cause xmas happened i wanted to throw out a thing. except now it's too much of a thing. that's ok. stan chrobin.
> 
> i'm posting this at almost 4am so i greatly apologize for mistakes! i will read over and correct anything in the morning <333

"What if Naga can't bring you back?"   

It's a question that's buzzed around in Chrom's mind since the day he first knew of their only shot at getting rid of the Fell Dragon once and for all.  

He asked without a single careful thought or consideration that night, almost roughly so as he stared down his tactician. The only thing between them was the wooden desk Robin sat at every night in the conference room analyzing maps for future reference, his body about as rigid as the desk itself while Chrom's presence remained intimidating. The flame of the candle lit next to the map remained the only light in the room, adding to the unsettling atmosphere.  

Robin's sighs shakily under his breath, the palms of his hands pressing against the wooden surface as he stands up. "Chrom," he speaks quietly, head tilting up to stare back at him, "It's unlike you to doubt Naga, nonetheless me." His fingers are deft as they pinch the corner of the map, and in that moment Chrom notices how delicate his hands look while folding it up and tracing the creases.   

The day's soon and they both know it.  

"I don't doubt Naga—"  

"Chrom," Robin speaks up, a gentle hand lifting up to signal his silence. His brown eyes are warm and shining in the soft light of the candle's flame, offering an inviting kindness Chrom wouldn't hesitate to accept. Chrom felt like he'd say something stupid about his eyes like last time if he kept staring at him with that fondness. Robin's hand lowers as he continues, "I know you don't want me to do this, but what choice do I have?"  

Chrom's not angry at Robin. He's not mad at him, not frustrated with him, but he's bitter. He knows where Robin's coming from, he knows what a risk this is and how scared he is, but he also knows deep in his heart how important this is to Robin. Chrom doesn't have the right to attempt to dissuade him.   

Robin's head tilts as Chrom stares mindlessly into his eyes, cheeks heating at the silence and intimate stares left between them. "I should get some rest," he speaks up to cut the silence, a free hand wrapping around the candlestick sat on his desk and lifting it up. His gaze leaves Chrom's easily, yet anticipation is painted on his face. "You should too."  

"I will," Chrom murmurs, mostly to himself as his head tilts around to glance at the doorway. Time is so short, he thinks to himself. Quietly, he voices, "May I walk you?"  

As if Chrom hasn't asked to do so several times in the two years they've grown and fought alongside each other, Robin's expression hesitated between surprise and embarrassment. A simple nod of his head sufficed well enough for an answer, and so he handed Chrom the candlestick, fingers gently brushing past each other as they always did, and followed next to him the route to his current resting quarters.   

When approaching the hallway that led towards Robin's room, Chrom felt immediate dread. His legs and arms felt heavy as he cast a gaze toward Robin, feeling his chest tight and strained against his beating heart. He knows he'll wake up tomorrow morning and find the tactician seated at the breakfast table with everyone else, but he just feels like this is the last time he'll ever see him. Everything felt so fragile, as though a gentle touch on Robin's shoulder would turn him to dust and that would be that. It's not fair. None of this is fair.  

"Robin," Chrom voiced quietly, his footsteps halting. The bedroom was only a couple of steps away, yet this felt like the end; the last time they'd get to speak like this, quietly in the dead of night with no Frederick to eavesdrop, no Lissa to tease and complain, no other Shepherd to interrupt their time. This dark, silent night was all they'd have left together for gods know how long. For all anyone knows, this is the last day they'll get to be so intimately in each other's presence.   

The tactician was hesitant to stop his steps, but the pleading soft voice of Chrom calling out his name pulled him back and tugged on his heartstrings enough to convince him. He didn't need to speak to know what this was about, and he didn't need to look back at Chrom to understand the pain he was feeling deep in his chest. He understood; Robin felt it too. He had to say something, but every attempt to speak was nothing but a gravelly hum.   

Without an answer, Chrom continued, "I know you have no choice, I do, but..."  

Robin didn't want to hear it.  

"I can't lose you too."  

The silence following Chrom's voice felt constricting, like the walls around them were gradually closing in and crushing their bodies, their chest, their hearts. The situation wasn't as solved as easily as either hoped it could be, and the reality of it was unfair but the only reality there was to this. Robin had no choice. He couldn't have this conversation, not now. Not...ever.  

He genuinely felt guilty. He knew Chrom was being honest and speaking from his heart, but nothing changed the strain in his chest as he fought the urge to back down on it. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave Chrom, who he knows has been through enough, who he knows has already lost too many loved ones already.  

"You can't protect me from everything Chrom, as much as I know you'd like to," Robin muttered, his head tilted downward as he fiddled with his gloves. Chrom watched him tug it off to his fingers, the mark of Grima hard to make out in the dim light of the candlestick. "If this is my fate, then so be it, but don't expect you can change my decision."  

"I know this, Robin, but you can't change my feelings regardless of whether I accept this fate or not!" Chrom speaks up. He's being selfish, he knows this, but he can't stop himself from speaking without a thought to back it up. He can't change his feelings, and he can't change Robin's mind, and he doesn't know what he's doing. He can't tell if he's angered Robin, but from a distant it looks like he's shaking, and all Chrom wants to do is run up and pull him into a hug and tell him everything will be okay, and he'll come back, and they'll fight side-by-side once again, but even Chrom isn't sure. He really, really isn't sure.   

"I know, Chrom," Robin croaks, his voice wavering. He slides his glove back on, eyes facing the ground as he tilts his head in Chrom's direction. "I'm going to bed. You should too," he whispers. He doesn't mean it, and he's no good at hiding that either. He wants Chrom to stay. Chrom wants to stay.   

But as it turns out, the Exalt is no good at listening either. Chrom only wishes he were careful enough to consider his double entendre before excusing himself and letting Robin head off to bed for the last time.  

***  

Chrom woke up to the excited cheering of Lissa. Her joy was almost enough to ignore the discomforting, tight feeling in his chest, but that questionable unsettling pain had yet to pass. Breakfast was wonderful as per usual while Christmas cheer was light and joyful in the air. The castle had been decorated a few days prior to Christmas, red carpeting and small yellow lights lining the walls.   

The snow sprinkling outside was gentle and calming. It didn't snow that often in Ylisse; Chrom found the coincidence of a snow fall on Christmas to be charming, but he also found it...unnerving. The colour white alone was enough to bring him unease.   

Festival preparation went by quickly after breakfast. Lissa did most of the planning, given she was a lot more joyous about this time of year than Chrom found himself to be. He didn't dislike Christmas, of course not. It was just...  

"Are you coming?" The sound of Lissa's voice rang ahead of him. Her arm intertwined with Maribelle who stood gracefully in a dress of white and coat of red by her side. They looked like a lovely, festive pair next to one another. Lissa's head was donned with a crown made of golden tinsel handcrafted by Maribelle herself, her outfit palette of the same snow-white and comforting red.   

"Yes, of course, I'll just be a minute, Lissa. Speak to our people for me?"  

He didn't wait for her reply before heading down the hall. The voices of his Kingdom's people were a murmur past the doorway behind him, the crowds large and full of children, and parents, and grandparents. It's Christmas time, and this is the first festival as Exalt that Chrom gets to attend. His people are excited, ecstatic that their noble ruler was finally going to be able to attend this year after all the time spent mending Ylisse. It's lovely, really, but while Chrom is pleased, his mind is buzzing as he pushes it all away for just a moment. He needs a moment, he needs to think.  

After all, this is his first Christmas without Robin since last year.  

It feels like a punch to his gut as he freezes in his tracks, his woolen coat inching off his shoulders as his body slouches just slightly. An open window nearby offers a light chilly breeze that grounds him, reminds Chrom where he is. He feels cold, but he can't tell if it's from the window or the anguish washing over him at the realization he took so long to call to mind.   

It's been seven months since Robin's parting.  

His mind loops, continuous repetition of Robin's final words as he stares blankly into the red carpet. It's a lovely carpet, but the shade itself only brings a nauseating feeling to his stomach; it's too reminiscent of blood.  He needs to put his feelings aside, for the sake of his people, for the sake that everyone believes in him, but as strong-willed and selfless as he is, Chrom can't shake the grip on his throat and the walls crushing his chest.   

He misses Robin, of course he does. They spent over two years together, mending Ylisse and fighting off bandits, admiring landscapes and each other. Just being in each other's company was enough to qualify as a good memory to Chrom. There were so many things he wanted to do, wanted to say, wanted to discover all with this man by his side. He thinks about his face, the warmth it brought him every passing winter. He thinks about the way his hands felt on him, the lingering fumbling of fingers with a candlestick and gentle hugs at the entrance of Robin's resting tent. The way Robin's cheeks would flush every time Chrom was stupid enough to try and impress him, the way his soft brown eyes would stare at him as if he were reading a book, analyzing the details of small scars and arm hair and the roughness of his hands, reading into little smiles and the calming caress of his fingers down his back as guilt riddled the tactician the way it tended to do. Robin always tended to blame himself every time things went wrong, no matter how long Chrom would insist no man could plan their tactics that perfectly.  

How could he have forgotten this so simply? How could he forget of all the people he lost, even if for a moment? He's reminded too of Emmeryn, and how long it's been since she spent Christmas with them. He owes so many apologies to her as well, for forgetting, for not praying, for not thinking in the slightest that none of this was fair to her either.  

It's not fair. Where did his time go? Where did everything go?  

He takes in a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow and steadying his body against the wall with his eyes shut. He can't do this, not now. He has responsibilities. If Emmeryn could do it, he could too. He can do it. His mask can't fall now, not after all this time he's spent convincing Lissa he's okay and that he doesn't need to be watched over. Not to mention it took three months after losing Robin to convince Frederick he didn't need to sleep in the same bedroom as him; Chrom could manage the nightmares.  

Exhaling, Chrom pressed his back against the wall as he took another deep breath. He opened his eyes as he breathed out, the pads of his fingers tapping against the wall behind him while struggling to keep his mind off of the constriction in his chest. He had to be a good Exalt, a strong one so that Lissa would never have to suffer in his place. He feels guilty for his lack of time to be there for her, but given his role, he has no choice.  

He's also left her out there to speak to crowds of citizens on her own...  

Another strong, deep breath helps kick Chrom back into gear, keeping his mind set on the festival only as his heavy heart weighs him down. He can mourn and dwell later, but now proves to not be the time for it. He's only hoping Frederick won't deem his absence suspicious enough to pester him with questions.   

Exiting through the same doorway he left Lissa at, he's met with the beautiful snowflakes dancing around the city of Ylisstol. People's faces were flushed pink from the cold, but not a single person looked displeased about it. Christmas time was a time for friends and family, for being thankful and joyous of the world they live in and the people in it. Chrom wants to give them a world where they can be thankful and joyous...he's certain he can.  

He's met by the force of children first, then parents who follow after and always apologize for their child's behavior. Chrom assures them all he doesn't mind, and that they should feel no shame for the joy their child is experiencing. Frederick started giving him weird stares since he arrived, but it was no use trying to confront him about it without being bombarded with questions of his whereabouts. Instead, he had other questions on his mind.  

Excusing himself from the chatter of parents and tight grip of a child around his leg, Chrom made his way over to Frederick, his rough hands cold as he pulled his coat up on his shoulders.  

"Milord," Frederick muttered, the clattering of his chest plate loud as he fumbled with the coat draped on top of it. From a pocket, he pulled out a pair of gloves, handing them over to Chrom who accepted them without hesitation. "You seem rather distracted today. Is there anything wrong?"  

The Exalt blanks out momentarily before shaking his head. He did a quick glance around the square, unaware of Lissa's whereabouts. "Have you seen Lissa?" He asked, eyes scanning the crowd rather than directly speaking to Frederick.   

"I'm afraid not recently, no. I do believe I saw her heading down the eastern alleyways toward the market and shop district before you arrived, though. Might I walk you there?"  

There Frederick goes, being protective again. "No, that's quite alright. I will be back momentarily."   

Chrom steps away, shuffling through crowds and calling out quick apologies for every person he might have accidentally bumped against. He just wants to apologize for leaving her to begin the festival without him.  

Slipping through the streets, he finds himself in the midst of crowds throughout the shopping district. A groan leaves from deep within his chest, irritated that he can't find Lissa. He doesn't want to shove through more crowds given how disrespectful that is. No one would accept an Exalt willing to be that careless of his people, especially when it's Chrom they're dealing with—  

"Milord?"  

The voice startles him, his body jerking around and nearly tripping over his long coat as it drags on the ground. Maribelle is stood before him, gloved hands holding onto a wreath against her chest. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her nose a soft red as well.   

"Just what might you be doing?" she demands more than she asks. Maribelle's never been afraid to talk Chrom down when she felt it was necessary, given how much she treasures Lissa over him by a tenfold. He knows she means well though, for the sake of his little sister.   

His eyes gaze around her, plain as day that Lissa was no longer partnered with her. He's tired, honestly. A nap would be great right now, but he knows that isn't a choice. "Where's Lissa?" he asks loud enough for her to hear him over the crowds.   

Maribelle's fingers pick at her gloves as she pulls away a loose thread, scoffing as she lets it go to float off in the light breeze. "She came to do some shopping with me but the sudden appearance of that dastard Plegian witch you call Tharja caught her attention. Apparently, tea wasn't on her list of prioritizes with me this festival." Maribelle looks almost upset as she says this, eye contact being avoided as she uses her thread-picking as an excuse to not let her emotions seep through to Chrom through expression. She's shivering, he notices.  

Chrom runs a hand through his hair, feeling how damp it got over time due to snowflakes melting on him. "Do you know what direction they headed?" he asked.  

Maribelle turns, a long dainty hand pointing forwards, down the city street. "Down that way. I believe I saw them headed towards the fields."  

His throat closes, struggling to swallow down the lump in this throat as he recalls exactly what fields she was speaking of. He can't even offer a 'thank you' as he slips past her, adrenaline high as he quickens his pace down the pathways.  

The crowds thin out as he heads down. Why would Lissa be there at a time like this? Did she want to spend a moment to mourn him, offer her time and prayers in hopes of a Christmas miracle?  

It'd be nice for a Christmas miracle, but everyone knows that's just a myth.   

He doesn't realize it but he's running now, heart racing in his chest. Just heading towards the fields they first found Robin in was enough to make his mind bounce, all washed up with fear and joy and regret and pain all at once. He can't calm himself down, and he's not bothered enough to try to. His shoes are crunching snow now, following into footprints left by Lissa and Tharja. His eyes are straining from the cold, his lungs feel like they're on fire but he's almost there. He's almost there.   

Except, he runs nearly full force into Lissa who was sprinting from the direction of the fields back to the festival.  

Lissa screams the second Chrom kicks back and trips over himself to prevent knocking into her, her body slouching over as she heaves to regain her breathe.  

"What...What were you doing?" Chrom manages to speak, his voice dry and gravelly as Lissa stands herself back up, inhaling deeply.  

"You have to come with me, now."  

Chrom doesn't hesitate for a moment, doesn't think for a second to question Tharja's whereabouts as he begins following after Lissa once she turns back around toward the field.   

She insists on jogging, but Chrom's adrenaline is too high to be idly lying about with this. This might not even be what his heart's fixated on it being, but what if it was? What if Robin really was...?  

He can't get his hopes up.  

And yet he begins to think of him. He remembers his smile, he remembers the button-shape of his nose and the length of his lashes. He remembers the way he teased Chrom about not knowing how to eat oranges, and the way his laugh was like a gift handed down from Naga herself. He'd do anything to hear that laugh again.   

He speeds up, and Lissa behind him calls out something, but he can't make it out with the way his ears are ringing in his head. They're just reaching the segment of the field they found Robin in, and as his legs start to give out, his eyes strain as they recognize the lump of a black and purple coat slumped on the snow in the distance.   

He'd never been so determined to run despite the burning ache in his legs.   

 


End file.
